Only Imaginary
by secretofserenity
Summary: Finnick always brings Annie back to herself.


Finnick opens his eyes to find Annie already awake.

The sheets are tangled about their legs- mimicking the way that they are similarly tangled wrapped about each other- and Annie's thin nightgown clings to her breasts in the early morning sunlight that is streaming through the curtained windows. He would normally close his eyes and simply drift off into sleep's waiting arms once again- he can feel the tides of his dreams pulling at his consciousness- but he won't leave Annie. She's in one of her moods- he can already tell. After years of spending every waking moment with this girl, he's come to be somewhat of an expert, even after her mind… changed. Some things he notices are usual for her fits; her eyes are fixated intensely on the ceiling above her, eyebrows stitched together in concentration on something that doesn't fully exist outside of her mind. But others are more rare, telling him that she's had a bad night: the way that her hands are clenching the sheets, the desperation in the tight line of her mouth. He no longer makes any attempt to follow her eyeline, as he used to when she first came home, for he knows that only Annie's eyes are able to see these monsters that seem to be laying in hiding in the most innocent and random of places- always ready to ambush her at the slightest provocation.

He hates those monsters.

So he simply tightens his arms around her. "What is it, Annie?" he murmurs against her shoulder, the skin soft and pliant beneath his lips. He pauses, but not to wait for an answer. He knows he won't get one- Annie's too lost in herself right now. But he needs to give the words time to wind through her mazes and into her consciousness, time for it to settle itself in that small, untouched part of her mind that still holds onto rational thought. He understands now that any interference from the outside world tends to get jumbled if it happens too quickly during a time like this- she can't make any sense of it. So, he sits and holds her until he sees her brows twitch in response. Then he knows it's safe to continue. "Annie," he mutters again, quietly, comfortingly, in the voice he reserves just for her. "It's not real. You're home, Annie," he says, voice dropping an octave as his forehead lightly comes to rest against her right temple. "You don't need to be scared anymore."

Her brows draw further together over her forehead, and it pains him to see the vacancy in her eyes. Her hands tighten around the blankets until it must be painful, and his fingers slip into hers, working quietly against them until she relaxes her grip and allows him to take her hand. He murmurs quiet, soothing nonsense into her ear until her breathing becomes normal again, and her brows relax. "Finnick." She seems surprised that her mouth has formed this word on it's own; surprised and confused, which makes her upset for a moment.

"Yes, Finnick," he says slowly, rubbing soothing circles against her hip. "Annie, it's just Finnick. You're not there anymore." He won't call it by name. He never names that place around her.

"Finnick." this time she seems more certain. He can see recognition flicker across her face as she makes the connections- Finnick, a name, not a word; Finnick, her lover. He watches her as she slowly comes back to him.

"There you are," his hands are so gentle when he takes her face- a gentleness that had previously been forgotten in him- and his eyes are so unbelievably warm, that she believes she could fall straight into them, and nearly feels so frightened, she needs to look away.

His fingers ghost over her lips in a gesture that is more comforting and reassuring than lustful, and she finds the strength to look him in the eyes returning to her in drips and drops of confidence.

"Finnick…" His name tastes sweet on her tongue, and she now remembers fully where she is, and is able to see the grotesque images in her head as just that: images, which have no hold or power over her. Her fingers join his on her shoulder, lips moving for some time as she looks at him before any substantial words are able to fall from them. "Will you always be there to chase the monsters away?" Blinking at him as her mind came back to her, she progressed through the fog- it seemed important to get her point across. Clutching at his hand as if it were her sole link to reality, she questioned him with a quiet voice: "You'll always be here to tell me what are lies, and what's real?"

Her eyes look so unbelievably green and trusting- trusting in an almost desperate sort of way- that his eyes smart. "Annie." He tells her, quiet and reassuring with a smile: "I'll always be here."

If only she'd known that- as adept as Finnick was at helping dispel the lies her mind plagued her with- he wasn't incapable of telling one himself.


End file.
